


what can anyone give you greater than now, starting here, right in this room, when you turn around?

by it_always_flinches_first



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Dissociation, Fake Character Death, Gay Zuko (Avatar), Gen, Implied Filicide, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Oh also, Or mentions of it, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Partially Blind Zuko (Avatar), Partially Deaf Zuko (Avatar), Platonic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Time Travel, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Zuko (Avatar) Has ADHD, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, additionally: it doesnt warrant the gdov warning but in chp4, also lots of lying in this thing whats up w that, also why isnt that a tag already :(, and zuko but yk, anyway, guess whos a fool and a clown, he never gets drunk but the bar content is v much There, i promise toph and suki r coming!! this au is just getting out of hand, i told myself id never write a soulmate au bc theyre too complicated, if im projecting i might as well go all the way, indoctrination, it's when katara gets the blood for the soulbond, lmk if i missed smthn i havent proofread this, never thot id write those words soulmate aus beat me up every thursday god, no beta we die like [redacted], oh handy, so i think, thats not a tag either, thats not actually a tag but i feel like it shld b, thats right me, there we go, theres a bunch of speculating on how 16yo zuko couldvd died, theres one (1) mention of self harm, this is barely edited, toph comes in later i'll tag for her when i update, zuko goes to many many bars and cracks some cold ones w the boys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28681593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/it_always_flinches_first/pseuds/it_always_flinches_first
Summary: It starts like this: Zuko’s head is fucking pounding like it’s the morning after the Sun Festival, except he doesn’t open his eyes to find his friends in various piles around him, as tragically hungover as him. Instead, his eyelashes unstick slowly and painfully, and with the sunlight and the shock of green above him before he snaps his eyes shut again comes a young, mournful voice.“—we knew each other back then,” Aang is saying, from somewhere high and to Zuko’s left, “do you think we could’ve been friends?”or,Zuko stages a coup, finds his soulmates, goes to the past, and discovers that happiness isn’t unattainable— not necessarily in that order.
Relationships: Aang & Katara & Sokka & Zuko (Avatar), Earth Kingdom Citizen(s) & Zuko (Avatar), Fire Nation Citizen(s) & Zuko (Avatar), Katara & Sokka (Avatar), The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 83
Kudos: 381





	1. everything goes really badly really quickly

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in 2 hours b kind to me  
> title from the last line of you reading this be ready by william stafford (great poem go read it) uhhhhh rated t for language and this is gonna stay gen <6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this in 2 hours b kind to me  
> title from the last line of you reading this be ready by william stafford (great poem go read it) uhhhhh rated t for language and this is gonna stay gen <6

It starts like this: Zuko’s head is fucking pounding like it’s the morning after the Sun Festival, except he doesn’t open his eyes to find his friends in various piles around him, as tragically hungover as him. Instead, his eyelashes unstick slowly and painfully, and with the sunlight and the shock of green above him before he snaps his eyes shut again comes a young, mournful voice.

“—we knew each other back then,” Aang is saying, from somewhere high and to Zuko’s left, “do you think we could’ve been friends?”

After he’s done deciphering the jumble of consonants and vowels coming in mostly through his bad ear, Zuko has questions. Mainly: what the fuck is Aang doing here? Additionally:  _ why is he on Zuko’s left _ , damn it, you tell a guy about your tragic backstory and hearing/sight impairments and he forgets in, like, a month. Unbelievable.

Zuko opens his eyes again, more prepared this time for the early morning light filtering through the trees, and takes stock. His head is pounding, first of all. He chalks that up to whatever it was that happened before he passed out in the middle of a forest with Aang too scared to move him— actually what the fuck, he should probably remember that. In any case, the rest of his body is fine, if a bit sore, and Aang’s still waiting for an answer. What does it say about him that he’s willing to just go along with this without questioning it?

“I— probably,” Zuko says, pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes. He reconsiders. “Or not. It really depends.”

“... Huh,” Aang responds, more to himself than anyone else. It’s a small, pleased sort of sound— the kind of syllable that might as well be a breath, the kind of thing you hear after a particularly stunning theatre performance.

“I swear, the lot of you are incredible,” Zuko mutters under his breath, but Aang and his blinding grin either don’t hear him or don’t care.

It goes on like this: they walk for a long time. Zuko asks questions about important things, like the fact that they’re in the middle of nowhere and Zuko’s head still feels like a komodo-rhino stomped on it, and Aang answers with meaningless answers, like  _ ‘it’s really nice to be able to dry laundry with bending’  _ and  _ ‘what’s the highest you’ve ever jumped?’  _ because the kid has his priorities comically wrong and also he’s fourteen years old.

They walk. They stop for water from a nearby stream. They walk some more.

“Where exactly are we going, Aang?” Zuko grumbles at some point. His ribs are starting to ache.

“Oh!” Aang says, like he’s startled by Zuko being reasonable. “Um. Katara and Sokka made camp while you were out. That’s. Um. That’s where we’re going.”

_ What the fresh hell is going on _ , Zuko thinks, and then he doesn’t say it.

“Okay,” he says.

They keep walking. Sticks creak and break beneath their feet. Birds sing dutifully with the rising warmth of mid-morning. The trees witness their journey, indifferent, identical to the ones from half an hour ago. Aang and Zuko walk in silence.

Now, here’s the thing: if Zuko had been more aware, if his headache wasn’t slowly approaching migraine territory, and if he wasn’t so grateful for the silence, he might’ve noticed something was wrong. He might’ve looked over to find Aang (on his left like he never is anymore) with a smile that’s genuine but not trusting, and definitely not easy. He might’ve even listened to the faint cries of palm-sparrows and thought,  _ Huh. We don’t have those in the Fire Nation. _

But right now Zuko’s lucky to be upright and conscious, so he doesn’t notice. And because he doesn’t notice, and because he’s lucky to be upright and conscious, when they arrive at a clearing to see Appa snoring next to a poorly-set-up tent, Aang yelling “I’m back!” for the whole world to hear, Zuko makes a beeline for his favorite sky bison and immediately sinks into soft fur.

He’ll regret this decision later. For now, he has regrettable decisions to make.

* * *

Aang brings Prince Zuko into their camp.

Sokka would have something clever to say about that, maybe even a proverb about leading the fox-lion right into the rabbit-mouse nest, except that he can’t really think clearly because  _ Aang brings Prince Zuko into their camp  _ and then disappears into Sokka’s tent _. _

“Oh, hi Aang!” Katara chirps, dragging a pot out of her tent and towards the campfire. She’s already forgiven him for making them suck on frozen frogs— Sokka guesses it’s the heart-eyes talking. She hasn’t noticed their new addition yet, clearly, and  _ that’s  _ what finally makes Sokka react and silently pull out his boomerang. “Where’d you— AGH!”

_ There it is,  _ Sokka thinks. Prince Zuko is… on Appa. Shit. Prince Zuko is on their very flammable and nearly extinct sky bison, and Sokka doesn’t have time to figure out if it’s a threat, busy as he is running as quietly as he can. Behind him, there’s the distinct sound of Katara uncorking her waterskin.

Sokka’s never killed a person before. Wait, that sounds bad— he doesn’t plan on slicing the Prince’s throat or anything, it’s just— it’s a thought. He dismisses it as soon as he identifies it, but even though it’s a last resort, it’s still a resort. Prince Zuko is face down on one of Appa’s legs (which Appa is  _ allowing _ for some reason), so it’s relatively easy for Sokka to hold his boomerang at a menacing angle for when he turns around. He opens his mouth and is immediately interrupted.

“Hi,” Prince Zuko says, muffled by the bison fur, like he’s an old friend and not a psychopath that wants Aang dead. On that note, what happened to the guy’s ugly ponytail? “What are you doing here?”

“Wh— what are _ we _ doing here?!” Sokka sputters. “What are _ you _ doing here?!”

“... Good question,” the Fire Prince says thoughtfully, not looking up.  _ What is going on _ . “Aang, why am I here?”

Oh, that’s right, Aang.

Aang, who has apparently emerged from Sokka’s tent with a handful of leaves and a tea set, instead of a knife, which Sokka would’ve appreciated. He does a double-take when he registers the scene before him.

“Oh, monkey feathers!”

_ Finally, _ Sokka think, and decides to let Aang interrogate the prince. His arm is getting kinda tired, and Aang’s hands are free now that he’s dropped everything he was carrying.

“Did he follow you here, Aang?” Katara asks, ever the efficient one. “Where were you? How did he find you?”

“No, no!” Aang insists, distressed. Laughing nervously, he goes to tug on Sokka’s arm. “You guys have it all wrong— I got captured by Zhao, but Zuko’s the one that saved me! Right, Zuko?”

Under Katara’s overly loud, “WHAT?!”, which Sokka feels like echoing, is the Fire Prince’s much quieter, “Wait, what?”, slightly slurred and less muffled than before.

Aang nods enthusiastically. “Yeah! He helped me escape, but on our way out he got hit on the head by an arrow.”

“Okay, hold on,” Sokka protests. He refuses to lower his boomerang on principle, and also because he absolutely does  _ not  _ believe that Prince Zuko didn’t have ulterior motives when he helped Aang ’escape’. He probably just wanted to free him from Zhao to capture him himself. “Where did Zhao capture you? Do we need to move camp?”

“Oh, um. Like, a couple miles from here?” Sokka wonders how they’re all still alive. “I don’t think we need to move, though. If he was going to send a search party, he already would’ve. Right?”

Katara, incredibly, looks like she agrees. “I guess that’s true,” she says. She glances at Sokka. “What do we do with the prince, then?”

Oh, Sokka hasn’t forgotten about their new guest. He kind of hoped he’d wake up before he had to make that decision, but it looks like this nightmare is particularly stubborn. Prince Zuko, now sitting up cross-legged, looks like he’s seconds from passing out. He also looks— Uh. Well. He’s taller, for one, and his face is less childish than it used to be. His hair isn’t in a ponytail anymore, but in a tight bun that somehow survived a prison break.

There’s no other way to put it: Prince Zuko looks much older. Sokka would suspect foul play or a twin brother if it weren’t for the scar that he’s come to be familiar with— there’s no way this isn’t Zuko, but what  _ happened _ to him?

When he meets Katara’s eyes, he can tell she’s thinking the same thing. In sync, they lower their weapons.

“Thanks,” Aang says softly, relief in the slump of his shoulders.

Sokka sighs. “Start explaining before I change my mind.”

“Oh! Right, um. I went up to the mountain, and the herbalist told me that I needed to get frozen frogs from the river, and that if you sucked on them you’d get better. But when I was picking them up I got captured by these archer guys, and they took me to Zhao’s fortress, and Zhao locked me up.”

“Since when is Zhao looking for you?” Katara frowns.

“Since now, I guess,” Aang says with a shrug. “I think he’s very invested— they had these huge chains and stuff. But Zuko broke me out.” He perks up. “Did you know he fights with dual dao? He doesn’t even need his bending!”

That’s concerning, but Sokka offers him a weak smile.

“He got hit in the head when we were on our way out. That’s why he passed out, I think. So I got the frogs to you and then came back for him!”

“And that’s it?” Katara prods.

“Yeah, that’s it.”

Alright. Okay. That’s… that sure is. Something. Sokka rubs a hand over his face. He needs a nap.

Katara crosses her arms scowling, and looks between the three of them. “I just don’t get it. He’s been trying to capture you for months, Aang! Why would he change his mind like that?”

Aang doesn’t seem to have an answer for that. He turns to the prince, a question and a plea at once, and, despite himself, Sokka wants to hear what he has to say. Tui and La, the guy’s hunted them like animals for  _ months _ ! Katara has nightmares about him, and so does Sokka, and now he just switches sides, just like that? Why?

“I don’t…” Prince Zuko trails off, blinking. Sokka stares. “I don’t understand.”

“Why did you help me escape?”

“Why— In… Pohuai?” He’s still slurring, Sokka notes absently. Maybe they should be worried. “Um. Can’t remember. To capt’re you myself, probably.” Katara’s scowl deepens. “Why’re we… talking about this?”

“Yeah, Aang,” Katara sneers. “Why  _ are  _ we talking about this? We should just tie him to a tree and leave.”

Sokka agrees, but Aang looks so heartbroken that he can’t bring himself to say it.

“But you said we could’ve been friends!”

“Why does this matter,” the prince repeats. “We’re friends  _ now _ . Why do—” some clarity returns to his voice, and he frowns at Katara. “Why are we tying me to a tree?”

But Katara’s too busy shouting, “We’re not  _ friends _ ! You’ve chased us everywhere! You even said it yourself that you still want to capture Aang!”

Her bending water rises with her temper, in menacing spikes poised to strike and aimed right at Zuko, who raises his hands with a start. She doesn’t even seem to notice, just like she didn’t notice the day they found Aang.

Sokka, meanwhile, is busy gaping.

“Wait.” Aang is doing mental gymnastics too, good to know. “If we’re friends, why were you chasing me?”

“What?”

“If we’re—”

“Don’t act like you don’t know!” Katara interrupts hotly, her fists clenched at her sides. “I don’t believe for a  _ second _ that you’ve changed sides, and even if you had I wouldn’t forgive you!”

Yeah, seconded.

“I don’t understand,” Zuko says helplessly, anguish twisting up his face. His hands are still up, more plea than surrender. He looks from Katara’s anger, Aang’s confusion and Sokka’s bewilderment, to the ice gathered behind Katara, and promptly starts to panic. “I don’t— Why would you say you forgive me if— if—”

“I never said I forgave you!”

“What the fuck did we go on a field trip for?!”

“What are you _ talking about _ ?!”

“What are  _ you  _ talking about?!”

“The fact that I wish you were dead because that’s the only way you’d leave us alone!”

She looks horrified about it as soon as the words leave her mouth, but the damage is already done.  _ Tui and La _ , Sokka thinks, his hand drifting to his boomerang again— this might be the final straw. But the seconds pass, and Prince Zuko doesn’t lunge at Katara or shoot a fireball or yell something worse.

Prince Zuko… deflates. He leans back on Appa’s leg, tilts his head back, and closes his eyes. Katara seems as surprised as him by this, but Aang still looks appalled that she’d say something like that, even to an enemy.  _ What a mess. _

“I—” Sokka starts, but he has no words. What is he supposed to  _ say _ ?

“Jus’ gimme a second,” the Fire Prince mumbles.

So they do. They wait in silence for several moments, until the prince takes a deep breath, and settles into a weird position on the ground, on his knees but bending down so that his forehead is nearly touching the ground. Sokka’s best guess is Fire Nation bow. When he speaks, it’s the most eloquent he’s been the entire morning.

“I humbly apologize for assuming your forgiveness.” His voice is raspy and oddly detached; it makes Sokka shiver on top of confusing him. “It wasn’t my intention to imply that you were under the obligation to look past my misdeeds. None of you are. I have hurt you, and even though I can’t change it, I’m deeply sorry for it. I don’t…” here he falters, but he gathers himself quickly enough that none of them can interrupt. “Whether you forgive me or not is your decision to make, and I will accept either outcome— However…. However, the Fire Nation citizens also benefit from the war’s end and the world’s unity, and it would be unfair for them to suffer for my wrongdoings. I ask—”

“The war’s end?”

The only reason Aang’s words, all hope and cautious awe, aren’t lost in the wind immediately is that the rest of them are so silent they’re barely breathing.  _ The war’s end.  _ Is that why he’s here? To help end the war his family started? It’s almost too good to be true.

When he goes to raise an eyebrow at Katara he finds her staring at Aang, lips parted and eyes wide, and Sokka thinks,  _ Oh. _

Aang is the last of his people.

Aang, who reaches out to help Zuko sit up and asks, so hopeful it might as well be a prayer, “You want to help us end the war?”

Zuko looks at him. He looks at Katara. Finally, he meets Sokka’s eyes.

And—

And Prince Zuko says—

“The war ended three years ago.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright so heres the thing. i read this soulmate au once that was like. when u meet ur soulmate ur transported back in time as a ghost to see them growing up? thats not the entire thing but it's the gist. anyway i didnt bookmark it and now i cant find it so if anyone knows what fic that is pls tell me so i can credit the author bc thats basically what im doing  
> (also im on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/darkhoziertakemetosupermegahell) every full moon)


	2. things go slightly uphill, and then get hit by a low-flying plane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ✨hello✨  
> [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20383669) is the fic that inspired this!!! (sure hope that link works i dont know how to do html)  
> have some pain :)

Katara hovers nervously around the campfire, wishing the sun would set faster. She can’t help but glance at the lump of fabric that hides the Fire Prince, even when Sokka raises a pointed eyebrow at her. It’s just— it’s all so  _ bizarre _ . At first, she figured someone had finally hit his head hard enough that he’d gone mad, or that this was all a trick to kidnap Aang.

But the evidence was right in front of her. The hair, the face, the height— even the abrupt change in loyalties— it all led to a single conclusion: Zuko comes from the future, where the war has been over for three years and all of them are good friends.

It’s… a lot.

Katara douses the campfire, and over the sizzling embers, she aims a questioning look at Sokka.  _ What now?  _ She doesn’t actually expect him to have a real answer, she just wants—  _ something _ . To stop feeling so young. For her big brother to tell her he has a plan, or tell a stupid joke, or hug her tight. Sokka, eyes soft, pats the space next to where he’s sitting, and Katara doesn’t have to be told twice.

“Do you believe him?”

Her whispered question lands somewhere in the pink-blue part of the sunset. Sokka’s arm tightens around her shoulders, and she feels his sigh more than she hears it.

“Yeah. I do,” he whispers back.

They’re not worried about waking anyone or getting caught by Zhao’s men, but they whisper all the same. It’s the heaviness, Katara supposes, of knowing there’s a future where they win. Zuko said she’d forgiven him, which means she lived through the end of the war, and so did Sokka and Aang— but did Dad? Did anyone else?

She misses the polar lights. She misses Mom telling her about the spirits of the dead playing ball with a walrus skull, and Sokka’s laughter at Dad and Katara’s identical grimaces. She misses staring, transfixed, at the beams of purple, blue and green light dancing in the sky, as if the spirits were grinning and saying,  _ We’re still here _ . The sun leaves streaks of colour as it sets, pink and purple bleeding into dark blue, but Mom isn’t smiling down at her. She’s dead still, given back to La’s embrace, and Katara is so far from home it aches deep in her chest.

“Tired?” Sokka asks into her hair.

She nods. Exhaustion is a good thing to grab onto. Exhaustion is easier to sleep off than grief.

“I’ll go get the dishes. You wanna go check on Aang?” Another nod. “Alright. Do that and then go to bed, I’ll take first watch.”

So Katara gets up. Slowly and lethargically, but she gets up. She tunes out the sound of Sokka gathering the stuff from dinner, and walks the short distance to Aang’s sleeping bag. He never takes a tent, and she’s always wondered how he doesn’t get cold like this, but he never so much as shivers. Katara makes sure he’s breathing, and then looks him over to make sure he’s not injured, and when she’s satisfied he’s fine she crosses their camp again, stopping to drag Sokka into her tent by an arm.

He doesn’t question it when she silently offers him a blanket. She pretends to ignore the sadness in his eyes.

_ I wish we’d never found that iceberg _ , she thinks, and Sokka holds her tighter like he knows.

* * *

“—t’s a soulmark, Aang, not a prophet.”

“ _ Still _ ! It wouldn’t be full if they weren’t ready to be found!”

“Yeah, but we don’t exactly have  _ time  _ to go do that right now. Besides, the fact that they’re ready to be found doesn’t mean we’ll find them right away.”

Zuko opens his eyes slowly, and is met with the same view as the last time. He sighs. At least this time he’s up at sunrise.

“... Yeah, I guess. Oh, Zuko! Hi!”

He pokes his head out of the sleeping bag to find Aang waving wildly and Sokka nodding, significantly less enthusiastic. So, not a dream. Great. Zuko waves back. He remembers the fallout faintly, and the time after that even less. He remembers small hands guiding him to Appa and giving him a sleeping bag, and someone saying he might have a concussion. Yeah, that sounds about right.

Making it out of the sleeping bag is harder than it should be, but Zuko manages it, and when he’s finally out and standing, gives Appa a pat on the nose. For being such a good bed, mostly, but also for not immediately ending him even though they’re not friends yet. In this time. Because Zuko is in the past. He can almost hear Azula laughing at him.

“You’re tall.”

Zuko jumps ten feet in the air. He turns to find Sokka leaning on Appa’s side, looking Zuko up and down like he’s sizing him up.

“Sorry,” Sokka says, not looking sorry at all. “I thought you’d be shorter.”

“... Thanks?”

Sokka tilts his head. If this were his Sokka, Zuko would be able to tell whether that’s good or bad— but it’s not. It’s a fifteen-year-old version of Sokka who doesn’t remember anything about their friendship, and Zuko tells himself it’s fine but it hurts.

It hurts a lot.

“C’mon,” Sokka says finally. He looks less like he’s picking Zuko apart, though, so he counts it as a win. “We have to figure out what to do.”

So they all gather around the unlit campfire, Aang and Sokka on Zuko’s sides and Katara in front of him, glaring daggers at the ground. Zuko misses Toph so much it sends his head spinning. That might be partly the concussion.

“How did we win?” Sokka asks abruptly. He glances at Katara, who doesn’t speak, and then back at Zuko. “In— in the future, how do we win? Does Aang get to learn all the elements?”

Okay. Good start. Facts, Zuko can do.

“He does. You found a waterbending master at the North Pole, and an earthbending master in the Earth Kingdom, and I taught him firebending. There was… a failed invasion, on the Day of Black Sun, but the day of Sozin’s Comet we took back Ba Sing Se and Caldera City.”

“Okay,” Sokka says. “So in the end— who takes the throne?”

“In the Fire Nation? Me. Uncle couldn’t, and neither could Azula, so. I was the only one left.”

Aang bounces a little in his seat. “Who’s Azula?”

“Oh! Um. My sister.”

“You have a sister?! That’s so cool, what’s she like?”

“Uh.”

“Aang, please stay on topic.” Sokka runs a hand over his face, turning to Katara. “Any questions?”

“No,” she says sullenly.

Sokka aims a tired look at the sky. “Alright, then. Should we… Spirits, I don’t know. Should we do everything like we do in the future? Or could we end the war sooner? Also, another thing—” he points to Zuko, frowning. “You never said how you got here.”

“Uh. Good question.”

“That wasn’t a question.”

“I don’t… know?”

“Of course you don’t, the spirits hate me. What’s the last thing you remember from before you woke up here?”

Hm. The last thing he remembers… “A meeting with the Minister of Agriculture. But— I think there was an assassination attempt.” He remembers fire. Heat, and the unmistakable scent of burning flesh, sweet and curling around his neck and then  _ tightening _ . “There was this bright light, and then I woke up here.”

“Not much to go on,” Sokka mutters. “I… I guess it’s safe to assume you’re stuck here, then.”

Yeah, Zuko thinks so too.

“You should keep going North.”

For the first time, Katara raises her head and meets his eyes. “Why?” she asks lowly.

Zuko swallows.  _ Confidence is key,  _ Azula’s voice echoes in his head.  _ You don’t have to believe the lie, just make it seem like you do. If you act like you know what you’re talking about, you can get away with  _ **_anything_ ** _ , believe me. _

“I can handle the Fire Nation,” he says firmly. “Aang can face my father before the Comet, but he’ll need to have mastered all the elements. I’ll make sure things stay stable here, and after you’re done with water and earth, I can teach you fire.”

Sokka considers it visibly, but Katara just narrows her eyes. Aang looks between the three of them like he’s watching a tennis match.

“That… That could work,” Sokka says finally. “That could actually work. After Aang’s done with all the elements, we can stage a coup from the inside. It could work.”

Yeah, it could. It’s a good plan— very reasonable. If Zuko had any intentions of following it, he’d be very confident.

“Aang? What do you think?”

“You’re our strategist, Sokka,” Aang shrugs. He grins at Zuko, whose answering smile feels more like a grimace. “If you think it’ll work, then I’m willing to try.”

“Katara?”

All eyes land on her. Suddenly, Zuko thinks she’s about to call his bluff, but she drops her glare with a sigh and says, “I don’t see why not. I don’t trust you,” she aims at Zuko, “but— it’s a good plan.”

“Then it’s settled,” Sokka declares.

Zuko nods solemnly, his mind already going a mile a minute about the logistics of  _ his  _ stupid-fucking-insane can-barely-be-called-a-plan idea— he wishes Sokka were here to do the thinking for him. He goes to stand up, leaning on a nearby log, but a sharp edge of wood slices his palm on the way up.

Sokka perks up at his hiss of pain, but Zuko waves him off. “It’s nothing— just a little cut.”

It goes like this: Aang offers to go get their first aid kit, which Sokka allows, and when the kid comes back Zuko’s manhandled over to Katara, who’s the only one of them that’s good with bandages. Zuko tries to protest at first, but the cut is deeper than he’d realized and the splinters hurt, so he lets Katara glare while she fishes for bandages.

His first mistake is rolling up his sleeves enough that the scarred skin that used to be his soulmarks is visible. His second mistake is giving his bleeding hand to Katara when she holds out her own. His third mistake is not noticing the calculating glint in her eyes.

His last mistake is forgetting that none of these people trust him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> notice the sneakily added 'it gets worse before it gets better' tag :^)  
> im still writing this so if theres anything u wanna see lmk (also thank u sm to everyone who commented!!!! u own my heart now no take backsies)


	3. peeking through blinds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if u saw the chapter count go up no u didnt💖  
> this chapter contains: mai & zuko as wlw/mlm solidarity  
> katara and sokka as reverse cain and abel for comedic purposes  
> azula as Concerning Comedy  
> too many em dashes as the reason i should go to sleep instead of replacing commas with something worse  
> zuko as So Fucking Tired Pls Just Let Him Sleep Oh God Oh Fuck  
> child abuse as ozai's fav parenting technique  
> and me as not in control of this fic!  
> (mind the new tags :v)

Prince Zuko cuts his palm and mutters curses that make it evident he’s spent the past three years at sea, pressing down on it with a slight grimace. It keeps bleeding anyway. 

Someone pushes him towards Katara. Someone passes her a first aid kit. Prince Zuko lifts up his sleeve. And going up his right arm there’s a path of scarred skin that starts at his wrist and doesn’t end until the fabric of his shirt cuts it off at his elbow.

Katara remembers waking up with Aang waving his leg at her and yelling about a new soulmate— she’d checked herself and sure enough, there it was. On her right shoulder and her chest and the space in-between are Katara’s soulmarks: a boomerang for her brother, an arrow for Aang, and the faint lines of future soulmarks that tell her some of her soulmates aren’t ready to be found. Next to the boomerang, now, where there used to be a jumble of lines and shadows, there are flames. It’s clearly fire, but the colours are all wrong, pinks and oranges and blues that almost seem to shine against her dark skin— she’s never seen any fire like it. It’s mesmerizing.

When Prince Zuko’s palm starts bleeding, he huffs out a breath of purple flames along with the first curse. Katara— in that moment, she  _ knows.  _ So they sit him in front of him, and he hands out his bleeding hand, and Katara— Katara the warrior, Katara the sister, Katara the  _ protector _ — makes a split-second decision.

She barely registers Sokka’s widening eyes as she pulls a knife from the first aid kit and she doesn’t feel the pain at all, just sees the blood, and—

And then  _ light _ —

* * *

Immediately, there is screaming. Just one voice, high-pitched and cracking, making a guttural noise that Katara can pick out no words from. Still dazed from the realization that Zuko is, in fact, their soulmate, she goes to cover her ears and startles when her hands just pass right through them. She’d forgotten how inconvenient a non-corporeal form can be.

Spirits, the noise is  _ horrible, _ what in the world is going on in— What is this, a hospital? No, an infirmary probably— the palace’s infirmary. This must be where Zuko was born.

There are people nearby, gathered around a bed, and Katara starts to get used to gliding instead of walking as she makes her way there.

“Excuse me,” she mutters as she passes one of them, even though they can’t hear her. _ If it’s a woman giving birth, shouldn’t they be giving her space? Why are they— _

Katara stops dead in her tracks. She stares, horrified, at the baby on the table— A  _ table, _ not a bed, not a woman, a  _ child _ with—

Oh.

_ Oh. _

A dark-haired baby, bawling his eyes out, on an operating bed and with red, screaming burns where his soulmarks used to be. _That’ll scar,_ Katara thinks, faintly and a bit hysterically. The burns look so small like this, but she knows they’ll grow with him. For a moment, it’s like she’s watching herself outside her own body, reaching out a trembling hand to the fresh burns. Zuko sucks in a breath and _screams._

There’s another flash of light, and Katara is gone.

* * *

Zuko grows up.

He idolizes his father, leaving Katara with a sick feeling in her non-existent stomach. His mother is… Well, Katara doesn’t know what to think of her. In-between blinding light, Zuko’s mom does her best to make him into the opposite of what his father wants, and then seems to not notice that she’s throwing her daughter to the wolves in the process.

_ I have a sister,  _ Zuko had said, and Katara had expected to see her and Sokka in red, doing stuff that siblings do but in shorter sleeves and stupider hairdos.

Azula is  _ terrifying. _

Katara tries to not think about her. She’s sure that this will follow her into the real world, filling her nightmares with mocking smiles and whispers of  _ Azula always lies _ — and still.

Still, Katara can’t bring herself to hate her even when she burns lizards for fun and learns to pick people apart until they’re broken, which is another thing she refuses to think about. Azula is her mother’s fear and her father’s approval, and Azula, before everything, is a child. After that, a product of war.

Months and years continue to pass in minutes. Katara witnesses lessons that Zuko butchers every time, and firebending training that comes too late and too harsh. She soothes burns, scrapes and bruises, some accidental, most very much on purpose. And whenever Katara places cool hands on skin and feels the pain lessening, she can see him look around, startled, but he never addresses it.

Azula excels. Zuko grows angrier. Katara watches.

* * *

“It’s not real firebending,” Zuko grumbles for the thousandth time. Katara stifles a snort.

“Not really,” Lu Ten agrees. “But it’s still handy.”

Lu Ten is Zuko’s cousin— the Dragon of the West’s son. Katara tilts her head this way and that, trying to picture the man sitting cross-legged in front of her and ruffling Zuko’s hair with ash on his cheeks and blood on his hands. It’s not impossible. It’s just hard.

“Firebending isn’t just about power, Zu. It’s about control,” Lu ten says softly, warming the teapot until he’s satisfied. When he adds the tea leaves and slides the lid back on, his hands are incredibly gentle, and for a moment, Katara can replace him with Gran-Gran or Mom.

She doesn’t understand.

If firebending doesn’t have to be destructive, if it can warm instead of burning and teach instead of taking, why doesn’t it? And how could anyone actively choose war again and again only to go home and be a  _ person _ ? The people under the helmets— how do they not see? Or do they just not care about anyone but their own?

“Control,” Zuko repeats, blinking.

Lu Ten grins. He nudges the teapot across the table.

The light returns and the scene shifts, but the sight of Zuko’s face screwed up in concentration, his tongue sticking out from the corner of his mouth and his hands cupping the teapot, and Lu Ten’s proud smile, bright but unnoticed, is permanently etched onto her memory.

* * *

It’s the last time either of them sees Lu Ten.

* * *

Katara barely has any time to process one death before the next one comes knocking, but her feelings about Fire Lord Azulon’s death are much less complicated: good riddance.

Zuko’s mom disappears that same night— Azula always lies until she doesn’t, until telling the truth hurts more— and Katara watches Zuko’s anger grow unchecked until it doesn’t fit inside his lungs anymore, all while he seems convinced that he can turn it into something else if he just yells loud enough. But he’s thirteen, now, and she can’t help but wonder. It’s just— the scar is  _ old _ ; it was old back when they first met, and he couldn’t have been more than sixteen then.

He carries a prince’s arrogance with clumsy hands, and he’s too kind for his own good, even as he believes so  _ firmly  _ the propaganda he’s been taught, and Zuko is thirteen years old.

* * *

_ Walking the edge of a knife, _ Katara thinks a bit frantically,  _ is an art.  _ Zuko, for all his usual fidgeting and stammering, is surprisingly eloquent when he condemns his entire country without noticing. _ Walking the edge of a knife is an art until you look down and there’s blood everywhere. _

Zuko looks up.

“Rise and fight!”

“I am your loyal son—”

“ _ Rise and fight, _ Prince Zuko! Cowardice will not help you!”

* * *

She remembers the man that took her mother away from her, and stares at the one that took Zuko’s from him. She remembers that a feral moose-lion won’t hesitate to tear meat from bone without a care for who it belongs to. She remembers that war is  _ hungry. _

* * *

Here is the part where Katara freezes, and Zuko flees and fights at the same time. Here is the part where she backs away every time he flinches away from her touch, even if it means the bruises last longer and the  _ burn _ —

She can’t do anything about the burn that’s not a scar yet.

When Zuko hurts he lashes out, and here is the part where his hurt bleeds into his anger and becomes a tangible thing he can’t hold inside his body anymore, snarling and roaring with the insistence of a dying dragon. She trails behind him, ghostlike, as he paces the halls of his tiny, rusted ship—  _ and isn’t it like a king, _ Katara thinks bitterly, _ to cut off your hands and then tell you to clap? _

* * *

They’re at sea for three years.

* * *

The Avatar doesn’t resurface.

* * *

The Avatar doesn’t resurface— until he  _ does. _

* * *

Katara is shown things she already knew. Her blood boils in time with Zuko’s punches just as it had in the moment. And this context, his reasons— she can’t decide whether it makes everything better or so, so much worse.

But after Pohuai (he  _ did  _ just want to capture Aang himself), when the bright light takes over her vision again, Katara doesn’t find herself back at their camp, but in a different scene of Zuko’s memory. A scene from the future. So she watches as Zuko slowly comes to understand that his nation isn’t what he’d thought it was, as the seeds of doubt are planted in his mind, over tea or under kind strangers’ roofs, and Katara finds herself almost  _ proud _ — of this boy who’s already starting to look like the person his father tried so hard to keep him from being.

Then they’re invited to serve tea for the Earth King, because of course they are, and Azula is there, because of course she is.

It’s so weird watching herself in Zuko’s memories— honestly, she almost prefers watching Iroh try and fail to teach the art of tea to the human equivalent of a brick wall. That, at least, is entertaining.

“I can heal it,” Future-Katara says. “Your scar.”

_ Sweet Tui and La, I take it all back. _

“WHAT?!” Katara sputters, loud enough to make the both of them go deaf. Deaf-er, in Zuko’s case. “YOU CAN  _ WHAT _ ?!”

Zuko seems equally confused, which is comforting. And— Well, okay. Katara has considered before that she might be able to heal with waterbending— the idea isn’t completely new to her. When she first did a soulbond with Sokka, he said that he’d tried to heal her scrapes like she’d done for him all the time, but it didn’t work.  _ Must be a bending thing,  _ he had said, and Katara had answered, teasing,  _ Or just a me thing. _

_ What’s the difference?  _ Sokka had grumbled, and then she’d shoved him into the water so he couldn’t see her pulling herself back together.

_ What’s the difference?  _ Katara is the last bender of the Southern Water Tribe.  _ What’s the difference?  _ She doesn’t know. It’s either a waterbending thing or a Katara thing, and regardless of which it is, the confirmation that her faint idea can be an actual real  _ thing _ that she can master and help people with— it’s  _ exhilarating.  _ So much so, in fact, that she almost misses it when they reach Zuko’s crossroads of destiny.

_ This is it,  _ Katara thinks, certain that her heart must be beating a mile a minute.  _ This is where he changes sides _

And then—

And  _ then _ —

* * *

The palace is red. So fucking red.

The hallways are big (and  _ red _ ), and the rooms even bigger, and Katara slaps him upside the head whenever she can but Zuko doesn’t even seem to notice. For someone so— so  _ shouty  _ and snarly and whatever, you’d think getting what he’s been after his entire life would make him bolder, but no. Zuko walks the halls the same way he did the first few weeks on his ship: silently, under the cover of nighttime and shadows, like a spirit in mourning. As if he can’t stand to be seen.

Katara feels the pit in her chest grow, and wonders how much more the spirits want her to see.

* * *

A lot more, turns out to be the answer.

Katara sees things she never would have  _ dreamed  _ of seeing— living dragons, Sokka being serious, the ancient Sun Warriors— and as Aang gets better and better at firebending with each passing day, the end of the war starts to almost be a feasible thing, something that they can  _ do. _

(She sees other things, in short bursts and without much time to process them.

Before the day when she assumes he leaves and tells his dad to shove it, Zuko finds himself in a library long after sunset, poring over old scrolls about Air Nomads— the only ones he could find that weren’t blatant propaganda. Between one second and the next, Azula’s sharp gaze is trained on him, her golden eyes not unlike a wolf’s when prey is concerned. Katara tries to tug at Zuko’s arm, tries to get him to  _ run, run as far away as you can and don’t you ever come back,  _ but he seems rooted to the spot.

There’s something wrong with Azula. Something in the single flyaway hair straying from her topknot that only warns of danger, but Zuko doesn’t move.

Not a word is spoken. But then Azula turns her head— slowly, deliberately, quite literally looking the other way— and Zuko’s lets out a warm puff of air. This is the closest they’ve gotten to an  _ I love you _ since Azula’s first firebending lessons, and it’s so fragile, this peace, so precariously balanced on a sword that could cut either of them in an instant, but it’s  _ here _ , and it’s the most beautiful thing Katara’s seen today.)

* * *

The war ends.

* * *

The war  _ ends _ .

* * *

Katara is tired from just  _ watching  _ the last Agni Kai, physically and emotionally— and the spirits must be too, because the next memory she sees shows her a far older Zuko, one who knows how to handle his council and his people.

Katara pats his shoulder after a meeting gone well, and Zuko, for the first time in his life, looks to where she’d be if she were really there and whispers, “Thank you.”

Whether she screams out of excitement is between her and the spirits, thanks very much.

* * *

Zuko gets friends. Lots of ’em. The very first one, though, is and will always be Mai, who is just now learning, like Zuko, that a friendship is something you love, not something you  _ survive _ .

Mai visits the palace a lot after Zuko’s crowned, mostly to pull him away from his desk and get him to be a person for a bit, and that’s where Katara finds them when the light dissipates: lying on their backs on the grass near the turtleduck pond, soaking in the sun like a couple of fire lilies. She always thought they made a lovely couple.

“If I win this one, you have to make me a flower crown,” Zuko declares. It seems he’s making up for Ty Lee’s absence by stealing all her enthusiasm.

“Ugh, fine,” Mai sighs, but the quirk of her lips betrays her.

“Uhhh— okay, see that one?” He points to a funny-looking cloud, white and fluffy above them.

“I see it.” Mai tilts her head and considers it. “That is… a horse with ambition.”

“Ha! No, it’s a dragon, obviously.”

“What?” Mai sputters. “No it’s not! How is that a dragon?”

Zuko grins smugly at her, laughing when she punches his shoulder. “I believe I was promised a flower crown.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Pretty please?”

“Get a peasant to do it for you,” she scoffs. “What am I, your girlfriend?”

Zuko rolls his eyes. “What am  _ I _ , Ty Lee?”

“Oh,” Katara says, eyes wide. “OOOHH! Yeah, that— no, yeah. Makes sense, actually.”

They don’t hear her, obviously, but they don’t laugh and wave it away like Katara expected them to. Instead, Zuko freezes and Mai’s breath hitches, and they stay silent for one stiff, endless moment. There’s something Katara’s missed— a vital puzzle piece that would explain Mai’s mechanical movements as she sits up and starts gathering flowers, weaving them together with skilled fingers.

“She told you?” Mai asks, every sign of emotion hidden away. Not that it matters, since she keeps her eyes firmly on her hands.

“No,” Zuko admits.

He looks like he’s considering getting up, but in the end just sighs and stays where he is. It feels so wrong to see Zuko this defeated— if the bad feeling in Katara’s gut is right, it’d make more sense for him to be spitting sparks, carrying his anger on his sleeve like he always did. This new Zuko, the Fire Lord, the man who came into their camp with a soft voice and bags under his eyes— Katara doesn’t know this man. Not really.

“We used to be better at hiding it, then.”

“You’re still good. Just…” _I_ ** _know_** _you,_ he seems to want to say. “You’re my friends,” he settles on.

Mai ties off the final stem on the flower crown and holds it out to examine it. It’s a really pretty flower crown, Katara has to admit, with white petals interspersed with pink ones, and a bright shock of red in one spot— all settled on a bed of green stems. It’s beautiful, and Katara feels a bit like crying.

“I’m tired,” says Mai. “Zuko, I’m so  _ tired _ .”

“I’m… angry.” Mai closes her eyes as if in pain. He swallows, turning his head to face her. “Mai?” A whisper, so quiet it’s nearly nothing. She doesn’t respond. “Mai,” Zuko says again, louder but still quivering. She looks at him from the corner of her eye. “I don’t want to kiss you.”

Katara isn’t sure of the implications of that, but Mai lets out a breath like her lungs have given up on her, silent tears making their way down her cheeks, at odds with her expressionless features. She takes Zuko’s hand in hers, squeezing until Katara winces in sympathy. She doesn’t dare do anything to disturb this silence, so heavy and oppressing with something like grief.

“I don’t want to kiss you either.”

Katara has to tilt her head up and ask for forgiveness— because this is something she shouldn’t be watching. The Southern Water Tribe confesses to La, to Tui, to the midnight sun that warms without burning; Zuko confesses to Mai and Mai confesses to Zuko and Agni is nowhere, is  _ no one  _ here.

“Zuko?” Mai calls softly. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry it has to be like this.” And Katara imagines Mai’s spirit seeping out of her pores, grey and wilting, to trail the slump of her shoulders before going limp on her chest.

Zuko, running his thumb over the back of her hand, blinks slowly, the same exhaustion spilling from each breath. “Me too.”

They’re silent for a long time after that.

Katara doesn’t want to be here. The feeling of  _ wrongness  _ crawls under her skin and pokes at her muscles, screaming,  _ What are you doing?! You shouldn’t be here! _ and she  _ agrees _ .

“Why are you showing me this?” she demands. The spirits are the only ones that can hear her, now, but they don’t speak. “ _ Why am I here _ ?”

Still, her only answer is silence.

“Always thought ending the war would be the hardest part,” Zuko mumbles.

Mai hums. “That was— stupid. Of you. Aftermath’s always worse.”  _ You should’ve known better, _ she leaves unsaid.  _ That’s on you. _

A pause. Then— “Yeah. Yeah, it is, isn’t it?”

Here is the part where something clicks and unfolds inside Katara’s chest. Here is the part where she thinks about Zuko’s anger leaving a gaping void in its wake, and wonders if she could get  _ her  _ anger to be as big as her enemies and then  _ stay _ . Here is the part where Katara thinks,  _ Oh. Okay. _

“I wish I could use being— being a lesbian to get Alin to stop courting me.”

Zuko matches her tentative smile with a huffed laugh. “Wouldn’t be appropriate,” he sniffs, “to tell ’im you’re in love with Ty Lee.”

Said like one says,  _ The sky is blue _ . A simple truth.

Mai sighs quietly, her smile turning bittersweet, and places the flower crown on his head. That seems to be all the answer he needs.

“What if you faked your death?” Mai asks.

* * *

Katara blinks at the sudden shift, and Mai’s eyes are no longer red-rimmed. Instead, she’s half hanging upside down from a bed, Azula and Zuko sitting cross-legged and stiff-backed on the floor nearby and Ty Lee balancing on one hand atop a bedpost, her foot dangerously close to a crystal chandelier.

“Very melodramatic,” Ty Lee comments.

“Maybe,” Zuko says doubtfully. “But we’d need a lot more allies, and trusting anyone but us is too dangerous.”

Azula scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Come  _ on _ , Zuzu. You really think we couldn’t pull it off? All we need is a flashy explosion.” The look on her face suggests she’s more than willing to create said explosion. “Fire Lord Zuko is dead, blah blah blah, his body was burnt beyond recognition, tragic, tragic. Crown Princess Azula takes the throne and has tea parties with the assassins until you come back from the dead and throw them all in jail— it’s almost poetic, really, I don’t see why you’re opposed to it.”

Katara’s horrified silence is interrupted by Zuko’s snort.

So she’s a bit on edge with Azula so close to him, sue her. The last time she saw her it wasn’t pretty, Katara’s just cautious. (She really is. Azula looks better— less wild-eyed and more content. If Katara had to put a name to it, she’d say Azula looks— not happy, not quite, but. Getting there. She deserves it.)

Then everyone’s words catch up with her, and all she can do is throw her hands up and yell, “Oh, come on!”

So. A plan to smoke out some assassins. It isn’t a bad plan, actually. At least with what Katara knows about Fire Nation nobility— which isn’t much, but nobody seems to mind that they go through as many Fire Lords as Sokka does hair ties.

“Could work,” she says to herself. She flicks Zuko’s cheek to show her approval, and he huffs.

“Alright, fine. We’ll do it your way.”

Katara tries to not gulp at Azula’s thrilled smirk.

* * *

_ A meeting with the Minister of Agriculture, _ Katara recalls, dazed. Just one more day and Azula’s plan would’ve worked, but the New Ozai Society was clever, and they were impatient.

She stares at the growing puddle of blood under the assassin’s still body, grateful now more than ever that she can’t smell things in Zuko’s memories. Zuko, who, holding his side tenderly, steps over the puddle to pick up something the assassin had dropped in the struggle.

It’s… a square. Well, a cube, shining so bright that it looks like it’s a stolen piece of the sun. Zuko rolls it around in his trembling hands. Behind him, blood continues to stain the rug.

Three things happen in quick succession. One: a guard arrives and knocks on the doorframe to alert Zuko of their presence. Two: Zuko startles hard, still high on adrenaline and shaking like a leaf. Three: as if time slowed down, Katara watches the cube slip from his fingers and shatter on the stone floor.

She barely has time to widen her eyes and let out a wordless yell before the light is filling up the room and swallowing them whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls comment!! also give me ur credit card number!!  
> i was thinking that maybe this chapter was too long but like. i have Thoughts........ stop booing me im right


	4. get up, get out of this town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whats up im still here lmao. sorry 4 taking a thousand years 2 update!! i was having a breakdown!!!!  
> have a 4k chapter (mind the tags) and the shredded remains of my sanity :D

His hands are shaking so fucking much.

“You need to leave,” Zuko says. He tries to sound firm, but his entire body feels like it’s about to fall apart right here on the forest floor. “You need to _leave,_ ” he says again when everyone fails to react.

Sokka is the one to break the spell first, startling something fierce before running a heavy hand over his face for the umpteenth time. He pulls Aang away by his collar, and they both start packing up their supplies. It’s quiet work, mostly. If you ignore the padding of footsteps and clashing of pans, which Zuko resolutely _does,_ the camp is completely quiet.

(It’s not easy to realize unless you’re looking for it, but the forest has gone quiet too. Frogs refuse to croak, cicadas turn away from them, owls muffle hoots with mice, and Zuko almost wants to laugh. Animals, he knows, have a sense for this kind of thing. For earthquakes or tsunamis, or when somebody’s reaching straight into a campfire.

It’s something he’s never been good at— always slow on the uptake and behind Azula in everything— but it’s hard to not realize where the smell of burning flesh comes from if you can feel the flames licking at your skin.)

On principle, he stops himself from looking at Katara. She hasn’t said a word since— _since_ , and Zuko’s palm is still bleeding sluggishly enough to be a distraction.

Here’s the thing you need to know about how Zuko’s brain works: he’s no good at doing things unless he’s aiming for something specific. Once he’s got a target, once he’s got a tangible goal visualized, once he’s sure his plan is fucking nuts and no one thinks it’ll work— _that’s_ when his mind buckles up and says, _Try me._ At first, the goal was looking for the Avatar. Then it was looking for his honour. Then it was looking for the Fire Nation’s honour, and Azula’s while he was at it, and he succeeded at each and every one of those and more.

When Mom was still around she called him too stubborn for his own good, which he is, and when she wasn’t, Azula called him reckless, which he also is. If Zuko has a plan, he has a target, and if Zuko has a target, there isn’t a single force on Earth that can keep him from nailing it, himself included.

He wonders, sometimes, if that’s what Aang meant when he said that Zuko embodied his element, but thinking about Aang makes him sad these days, so he doesn’t. Instead, he wipes his palm on the side of his tunic. He clears his throat.

“You have a map, right?”

Katara jumps. “Huh? Yeah, why?”

She seems… shaken. Unsettled. She’s looking at him like he’s a vision, like she’s never seen him so clearly before. It makes his skin crawl.

“I want to make sure you’re on the right track. You wouldn’t figure, but the North Pole’s easy to miss if you don’t know what you’re looking for. They’re clever like that.”

He checks their map, alters their course slightly so that they won’t pass through a particularly haunted part of the Northern Edge Sea, and then clocks the fuck out.

It’s just that Katara keeps _looking_ at him while Sokka loads up Appa, and she’s not as subtle as she thinks she is, and Zuko wants to disappear so bad he just— snaps. It’s not exactly on purpose, the drifting, just instinctual. By the time they say their goodbyes, he’s gone gone gone, and it makes him faintly satisfied that he can’t tell if Katara’s staring anymore.

Appa gets further and further away, until he’s nothing more than a dot in the far distance. Katara waves. Zuko does not.

* * *

If a tree falls in a forest but nobody is around to hear it, does it make a sound? Don’t answer that, here’s a better question: if a boy is born into bloodshed, does it stay with him for his entire life? If his hands are stained as he grows up, but he switches sides and spends the rest of his life trying to wash them off, do they ever disappear? Or does evil remain creeping over his shoulder forever, like a child’s definition of _irredeemable_?

If he consciously makes the choice to try and be good, does that mean his heritage vanishes, or does it just go dormant, waiting to strike? The people around him, for the most part, don’t think him capable of the atrocities his forefathers have committed, and he isn’t, but that’s not really saying much.

This… exhaustion, this bone-deep weariness, the drifting when time is of the essence— where does it come from? A long-since buried pull towards watching the world burn? Or just… well. He guesses it’s only logical you can get tired of being a person.

He doesn’t need to be a person to walk, listlessly, out of the forest and into the heart of the Earth Kingdom, so who even gives a damn anyway. Not Zuko, and not the tired innkeeper that hands him a room key, and not the owl-cat that settles on his windowsill to preen its feathers and squawk at him when he doesn’t offer any treats. So there. Fuck it.

He doesn’t need to be a person to sleep two whole days away in a bed that’s too hard and too soft at the same time, so that’s exactly what he does, but then the innkeeper is knocking on his door to see if he’s still alive and Zuko is reminded, forcibly, that the Fire Lord can’t afford to not be a person. He can almost hear Azula laughing at him. It’s not sharp and biting, though— she rarely is nowadays. No, it’s an odd sound, when he thinks about it. Tired and cynical. A bit sad.

“Parchment,” he answers, when the store clerk asks what he’s looking for. (How’d he get here?) “And ink. For a letter.”

Which is, you know. Fucking— whatever. Whatever.

He leaves with heavier hands and lighter pockets, and he weaves his way through an Earth Kingdom crowd in brown clothes he doesn’t remember getting. When he returns to the inn, the woman from the room next to him eyes him warily out of the corner of her eye. Fire, Zuko knows, has this way of bleeding from his posture if he’s not careful enough, so he refrains from smiling at her. It’s not like he doesn’t know what part of town he’s landed himself in. It’s not like he’s unaware of the innkeeper’s nonchalance at the idea of a corpse in room 12B. Behind the door, he swears he hears the woman’s fingers tighten around the jagged edge of a glass shard.

Her gaze— appraising, not wary. Of course. He’s gone soft. Gone trusting. What a shame.

He thinks, as he sits down at the rickety desk that still smells of blood and someone’s perfume, that it’s a bit concerning how willing he is to leave everything he’s fought for in these past four years. From ending the war to reforming the Fire Nation— it’ll have to happen again. All the sleepless nights and assassination attempts and fuck-ups and Agni Kais for the throne. Spirits. But he gave up so easily on going back home, to the Fire Nation he’s helped rebuild. Why?

 _Dear Uncle,_ he writes. _I think I’ve finally lost it. You can say ‘I told you so’ now. Does it feel good?_

The smell of smoke clings to the curtains. He’s sure it slips under the door. The innkeeper must smell it too, but no one knocks on Zuko’s door. There’s no need. _Ashmaker,_ the silence shrieks. _Amongst the monsters, you’re well hidden. Who looks for a leaf in a forest?_

 _Shut the hell up,_ Zuko tells it. He sweeps the ashes off the desk and tries again. He should feel bad about doing this to Uncle, probably. And he does, he really does, just… It feels a bit too much like retribution, and Zuko’s always had a problem with holding grudges. He blinks and there’s a book on the desk. It’s covered in ashes. Zuko blows them away. He blinks again.

There’s a messenger hawk on his shoulder. His door is locked. He did not buy this messenger hawk, nor did he borrow it, but the innkeeper— sly bastard that he is— had a goddamn pai sho board hanging in his office, so Zuko’s fairly sure he knows where the spirits-forsaken messenger hawk came from. And probably where it’s going.

He re-writes the letter. It’s not a letter anymore. It’s a message now. A note, even. It’s not very long, or well thought out. People who aren’t persons have… a hard time writing coded messages. But people who are Zuko have an uncanny ability to out-stubborn a rock, so.

Again, he feels bad for not feeling bad about doing this to Uncle. He wonders if it’s because his brain’s gone numb like the rest of his body, or if he’s just that kind of asshole still.

 _Penance,_ his mind offers, and Zuko hates himself so fucking much it’s almost funny.

He pats the messenger hawk on the head. It flies off, ribbon-less.

* * *

_To whomever it may concern:_

_My sincerest condolences, first and foremost. The knotweed tile has been forcibly removed from the board._

_Kind regards. Take care._

* * *

“Did ya hear?”

“Hear what?” Zuko asks, as innocently as he can.

“About the Fire Prince,” the bartender whispers harshly. “Heard the royal fam’ly’s in mournin’.”

“Ah, that.”

Falling back into his body was a necessary evil, and it sucked more than he’d expected it to. 0/10. One second he’s drifting through nothingness and the next he’s gasping for air and his palms are bleeding. He feels better now, though. There’s just something about liquor in the Earth Kingdom, he supposes, because nowhere else in the world can you find an aftertaste this sweet. It sits on his tongue, and clings to the back of his throat.

“The Fire Lord’s brat?” the man sitting next to Zuko at the bar asks, eyes wide. He tuts. “Shame.”

“Bastard’s own doing, if ya ask me,” the bartender says firmly. “Tried and failed twice to kill the kid already. Figures he’d make certain not to fail a third time— and rumour in Caldera has it the palace’s turning on itself like a pack o’ feral wolf-bats.”

Lovely visual. Worry and fear for Azula simmer inside his chest, and he squashes them down with a different kind of burn.

“I don’t see how that’d be true,” a second patron dismisses. She’s sitting on the bar, which is probably not supposed to be allowed, nursing her third glass of _something_. Zuko has no idea what it is, because it _looks_ and _smells_ like baijiu, but she’s drinking it like it’s plum juice. Who the fuck _does_ that? Actually, who the fuck does that and _survives_? “If it really was him who killed the kid, no one would be allowed to say anything. No different from Aito’s business, working in that place. You keep your mouth shut to keep your life.”

The first patron raises an eyebrow at this, at the same time the bartender notes, “Ah! Not from ’round ’ere, are ya?”

The woman simply shakes her head. Zuko thinks he understands; a job at the palace is not the kind of thing you can just quit, and the Earth Kingdom is big, with many places to hide in.

“Wouldn’t be out of character, though, would it?” he mumbles into the rim of his glass. “Ever since Omashu fell… They’ve always been terrible, but never this bold. And we all know what that family’s capable of.”

“But his own _son_?” the man next to him says softly.

On the counter, the other patron huffs. “After all the kids he’s already killed, what’s one more?”

The tavern sinks into silence. Zuko downs the last of his drink, unnerved by the suddenness of it, because the place is so empty there isn’t even the usual chatter to serve as background noise. His job here is done, and he wants to go to bed.

“Turnin’ in already?” the bartender asks when he digs through his pockets for copper.

“I’ve got an early morning,” Zuko confirms, nodding at both other patrons.

“Sweet dreams,” the woman drawls.

He’s asleep before his head hits the pillow.

* * *

“Drowned, last I heard,” Zuko tells the wide-eyed merchant at the next town over. “But no one knows for sure.”

“Spirits,” the man says under his breath, shaking his head. “Sixteen, you said?”

“Mhm. They start young, down there.”

He trades a couple silver pieces for a waterskin and a poorly-made dagger, and then he’s on his way again.

* * *

“Did he die on land?”

“Probably not.”

“Oh, that’s right!” says one of the seamstresses. “He was at sea with a crew, wasn’t he? Who’s to say one of them didn’t just stab him in his sleep?”

“That makes no sense, Hana,” her partner chides, at a significantly lower volume. “What would they gain from that?”

Hana leans forward, eyes shining. “A rather hefty sum of money, I imagine. Has anyone checked the royal treasury?”

“Spirits, Hana!”

Hana laughs at the top of her lungs, and Zuko chuckles along. “Dangerous stuff to say,” he remarks dryly.

“Aw, don’t tell me you’re a Fire Nation spy!”

Her partner goes into mild cardiac arrest. “You can’t accuse people of being Fire Nation spies, Hana!”

“I kid, I kid. _Relax_ , my young apprentice. If he were planning on killing us he already would’ve. Right, Mr Fire Nation Spy sir?”

“Absolutely,” Zuko assures them.

“Wonderful,” Hana gushes. “Now get the hell out of my shop, I’m a tailor, not a miracle worker.”

“But—”

“Ah ah ah!”

She pushes his singed shirt into his hands and drags him out the door by his good ear. She also says he’s too funny to get banned for life, though, so he waves goodbye and bows with his hands firmly at his sides, and he resolves to come back once he’s done faking his own death.

* * *

“The Fire Lord’s brat?” the seventh bartender asks in disbelief. Huh. Déjà vu.

“The very one. News just started to hit the coast.”

“How’d he die?”

“Pirates.”

“ _Pirates_?”

Zuko sighs. “Pirates.”

* * *

“Wasn’t he a bender, though?”

“Not a very good one,” Zuko mutters bitterly. “It’s not that hard to get rid of a firebender. Not if you know what buttons to push.”

“The Yuyan _are_ from the Fire Nation,” the shoemaker concedes. “Guess they’d know firebenders.”

“Mm. How much for that pair over there?”

* * *

“... Burned to death?”

“Yep.”

“With _his own fire_?”

“Poetic, if you ask me.”

“Oma and Shu, kid. The hell’s wrong with you.”

“What isn’t. Have you got any maps?”

* * *

The Fire Nation is a chain of islands, which makes getting there from the Earth Kingdom tricky, but it’s nothing half a day of fixing sails and swabbing decks can’t help. When the captain of the _Old Dragon_ asks what kind of experience he’s got, Zuko stands at attention and says that he’s spent five years at sea, three on steel and two on wood.

“Three on steel, huh?” the captain repeats, hand on his chin, studying him.

“Yes sir,” Zuko says. He doesn’t elaborate. He is so uncomfortably aware of how much space his scar takes up on his face. Steel means fire means enemy means fight, and the question, always, is _What the hell happened to you?_ His eyes are quite bright, he knows, and fire has this way of spilling out of his posture if he’s not careful enough.

The captain stares for another moment, before his gaze drops to Zuko’s right arm. He doesn’t recoil, nor does he flinch, but the moment when he reaches the same conclusion most strangers do is a visible one, and then there’s a hand on his shoulder, gripping tightly. A warning, perhaps, or a reassurance. Maybe both. Maybe whatever Zuko makes of it.

“You pull your weight, kid, and I’ll take care of the rest. Got a name?”

“Li, sir.”

“Alright then, Li.” The hand on his shoulder tightens its grip once more before letting go. “You can call me Jiang. We leave first thing in the morning.”

And that was that.

Being at sea again is… Agni— intoxicating, maybe. He’d missed this so, _so_ much. Missed the warmth of the sun on his bare shoulders, the wind messing up his hair and the water covering it in salt. He still misses the _Wani,_ with her narrow hallways and rusting, creaky steel, and how it always smelled of jasmine or chamomile.

He tries not to think of Uncle much, but it’s not like he’s got many other options nowadays. Captain Jiang immediately takes notice of Zuko’s tendency to overwork himself, which, while tamer now than in his youth, still proves itself a nuisance. Thanks to a crew and captain way too invested in a stranger’s well-being, working until he passes out for half a day isn’t an option, and neither is sparring with anyone until he’s exhausted enough to sleep through the night.

Uncle hides in every damn corner of the ship, trailing behind Zuko like a stubborn spirit. For a single instant, he thinks of Azula’s overblown pupils and wonders. An instant is just that, though.

Tonight it’s Hanako’s turn on night watch, so Zuko isn’t surprised, when the door to the kitchen opens with a tired creak, to lift his head from his hands and see her make her way to Mako’s secret stash of rum. If she thinks it odd that he’s up at this hour, she doesn’t say so. She also doesn’t say anything about the steaming teapot on the kotatsu, or the way his hands tremble when he lifts his cup to his mouth.

Hanako is an engineer, technically, but on the _Old Dragon,_ she insists that if anyone makes her pick up anything that resembles a tool she’ll sink the ship with her teeth. Zuko likes Hanako, with her loud, steady presence and a wisdom in her eyes that can only come from experience. He _likes_ Hanako, who uncaps an unlabeled bottle with her mouth and huffs when she settles down next to him.

“Go ahead and ask, kid, I know you’re dying to.”

Zuko is sleep-deprived enough to not look sheepish when he asks, “Are you okay?”

She grunts, which could be a yes or a no. “I’ll tell you if you tell me what you’re doing up so late. C’mon, half-pint. Trade secret.”

“I’m twenty-one, you know.”

“That didn’t sound like an answer.”

Zuko thinks. He opens his mouth and says, “I fought with my uncle before I left.”

“Yeah?” Hanako prompts. She fiddles with the bottle in her calloused hands, and the gesture looks out of place somehow, like it shouldn’t be something she’s capable of doing. “Was it a bad fight?”

He hums noncommittally. _Was_ it a bad fight? Objectively, no— not for Uncle, at least, and it’d be a lie to say it was the end of the world for Zuko. Uncle has forgotten about it altogether.

“It was,” he tells Hanako anyway. “The worst fight we’ve ever had.”

“Wanna tell me what it was about?”

“Yes,” Zuko says. “But are you okay?”

“Ah,” she laughs. “I was hoping you’d forget about that. I’m okay, kid, just homesick. A bit nervous to be docking in the Fire Nation in less than twelve hours.”

He supposes that makes sense. “I understand.”

For a moment, Hanako says nothing. It’s almost four in the morning, and the sun will be rising soon, and the only sound is of breathing and wind and waves. Hanako has a mechanic’s hands, strong and calloused and scarred. Sometimes, her skin smells of fire lilies. She gets teased by Lieutenant Kai because she likes her rum warm, and she didn’t ask about the teapot still steaming on the kotatsu. _Ah,_ Zuko thinks. The Earth Kingdom is big, with many places to hide in.

Then, Hanako asks, “What did you and your uncle fight about?”

He blinks. “My sister,” he says.

“Younger sister?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“He… he doesn’t like her very much. He loves her, I think, but he doesn’t like her. He seems to think she’s crazy.”

At this, Hanako raises both eyebrows, rum forgotten on the floor. “Crazy? Why?”

“Because she’s hurt me before. That wasn’t really her fault, though— it was our dad’s. Thing is… I don’t think Uncle agrees. Not fully. But she’s still a kid, you know, and I forgave her— I don’t… I don’t know. She’s not innocent, but. She’s trying, and she’s a kid. She’s my sister.”

“... I see,” Hanako mutters. “You looking for advice, kid? Or just a friend?”

“Just a friend,” Zuko says softly. “Thanks for asking.”

“Don’t mention it. Thanks for telling.”

Lieutenant Kai finds them like this when they dock, shoulder to shoulder at the kotatsu, cups of jasmine tea long since gone cold.

* * *

Things in the Fire Nation are different. He remembers this the hard way.

It’s not that he expected to find it the same way he left it. It’s not even that his memory has gone hazy, or that he’d watered down the horrors of the past until they were easy to swallow and, thus easy to forget. It’s certainly not that he’d fooled himself into thinking this entire experience could’ve been a bad dream.

The problem, maybe, is that he misses his people. He misses his nation like a gaping wound inside his chest, gnawing at anything that moves, and the people that shoulder check him in the market and narrow their eyes at his scars aren’t _his people_ — at least not really. The Fire Nation is different, both from the one in his memories and from the Earth Kingdom, which is why, more than anything, Zuko needs to _adapt_.

He’s quite good at adapting, quite good at— _(fists fire blood sneak out through the window steal food from the kitchens)_ — at making up for his shortcomings in creative ways.

So when the twenty-eighth bartender drops her jaw and hisses, “ _Prince Zuko_?” at his reckless declaration, Zuko doesn’t grimace as he nods or purse his lips as if in pain.

“The very one,” he grunts instead, disgust dripping from his tone.

“Old news, kid,” the patron next to him dismisses, laughing. “Though it does feel like we were the last to know.”

“Shut up, Mako,” his companion whines, at the same time the bartender says, “Really? Where’d it get to first?”

“The Earth Kingdom, of all places.”

“Spirits,” she scoffs. “I’d never take joy in it, y’know, ’cause he really was just a kid— but… well. Agni’s will had been made known already.”

Zuko forgets, sometimes, that Agni Kais are public events. It hits him like a slap to the face when he remembers, weighs just as much as his father’s hand, but that’s not the kind of thing you think about too much.

It paralyzes him, every once in a while. He remembers Azula on top of him in Ember Island, sparring gone wrong, her hands around his neck and his fingers singeing the skin below her ribs. _Burning, teaching,_ she’d said, pupils blown wide. _What’s the damn difference?_

For them? None. Ty Lee had to pull them away, fretting all the while. _He started it,_ Azula had snarled, and she was right, and they were both so angry and so, so tired. Mai had stared at the both of them like she knew— of course she _knew_ , of course—

The Fire Nation now is different from the one he ruled over, but it’s the furthest thing from unrecognisable. It’s not that Zuko’s fundamentally evil, because no one is ever just one thing; it’s just that he’s tired. And this is the Fire Nation that raised and killed him. This is the Fire Nation his forefathers have held in stiff hands and set alight.

He’s just tired. And in the spirit of the way Chief Hakoda and Mom and Mai— and _yes_ , Iroh too— never gave up on him, Zuko bares his teeth and spits out the blood in his mouth. Says, _I’m not going down, fuck you_.

 _Burning, teaching._ What’s the difference?

Not much. Just everything. Just absolutely everything.

* * *

Here is the last part: change begins, as it always does, in the underbelly of the dirty neighbourhoods, and the shady alleyways, and the over-crowded bars. Change begins with the forty-fifth bartender, who tightens fists and stares at the place where the doorway swallows moonlight, long after the boy with the scar’s picked up and left.

Change begins in a massage parlour, with a young woman tsking at news from the coast, and the way she leans over to whisper to her friend, _Awfully young, wasn’t he?_

In the underground, when someone turns to their partner and grin with all their teeth. When _that’s almost treason, darling,_ becomes _always had a bone to pick,_ becomes _I never wanted to say it, but suddenly I’m not so sure…_

Change sneaks up on you, sometimes. And other times, you sneak up on it.

(“I don’t know,” someone says into the night. “You’re supposed to question the spirits sometimes, aren’t ya?”

In the grand scheme of things, they don’t matter. In the small scheme of things, that whisper might as well be a lit match, and this nation might as well be a pyre.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> those sure were words huh. anyway  
> fun story: ive actually tried baijiu b4 and i thought it was vodka so i just downed a shot as u do bc NOBODY bothered 2 tell me that it was 60% alcohol and 40% fucking liquid suffering. i still have nightmares abt it

**Author's Note:**

> alright so heres the thing. i read this soulmate au once that was like. when u meet ur soulmate ur transported back in time as a ghost to see them growing up? thats not the entire thing but it's the gist. anyway i didnt bookmark it and now i cant find it so if anyone knows what fic that is pls tell me so i can credit the author bc thats basically what im doing <3


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